


The Captured Heart's Guide to Surviving Rebellion

by HarlotsHouse



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Cannibalism, Chains, Class Differences, Hostage Situations, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Rebellion, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:28:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28816356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarlotsHouse/pseuds/HarlotsHouse
Summary: Will Graham leads a group of rebels who threaten to overthrow the Elites. Hannibal Lecter is an Elite in love with his kidnapper Will Graham.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 76
Collections: Hannibal Flash Fic #002





	The Captured Heart's Guide to Surviving Rebellion

The blue heads bob around the throng, like smooth opal pebbles carried along a stream, inevitably sinking. Music and excited chatter fills the air, stained lips and white cheeks grin their decoy smiles of insincerities. Food is passed around by figures in white coats, their black tails waving behind them like flags, signaling people where it is they ought to satisfy their gluttony.

Icy blue eyes observe the prancing ignorant fools of high society obnoxiously spending their time. Will's hidden in a small alcove barely resembling a balcony high above from the masses in the ballroom. And there he stays cursing the people below him; a women clad in an eyesore barely resembling a ruffled silver cocktail dress underlined with hints of magenta and hot pink, swan shaped hair piece looming from her head, makes it unbearably clear how uncouth her kind really are, as she spills what would feed Will's village for a week onto the shiny polished tiles of the floor in her inebriated discourtesy. At once, black uniforms ascend on her, once they disperse there is no more mess, only the bird woman giggling hysterically, waving her arm about as if saying 'My bad, this happens all the time.' The empty spot she'd made on the table is promptly filled with food once more.

Will lets out a small scoff, drawing away from the rails. He should go check on Beverly's end to see how their plan has progressed.

To his surprise Will bumps into the firm chest of what can only be another prissy snob.

"Sorry," Will grunts out, not sorry at all, and tries to swerve around the man only to be stopped by the an extended arm clad in expensive fabric.

"This isn't your typical scene, is it?" A small thoughtful hum. "No, I can imagine you perfectly in the confines of an art room. Though I'm afraid your features qualify as more of a muse's than that of an artist."

 _What the fuck?_ Many a night Will has spent working in his messy work shack on an empty stomach, Will's never had time to ponder flirting with anyone but he fleetingly wonders if what this stranger is doing is. The man is all sharp edges and well groomed everything. It's just Will's luck some creep tries to make a pass at him.

Dark colored eyes gaze down at Will's hands. "Those hands of yours show a long history of labor. Every callus tells it's own story. They're a little too rough and in every finger. Not an artist then, though your obvious observational nature and seclusion from the crowd points to some other hobby."

 _Creepy indeed_.

Gentle hands bring Will's up to be scrutinized more carefully. "Ah yes. Nature is your calling. You're a hunter."

Will snaps his hands away from the poker faced stranger, shocked and taken aback.

"Forgive me, I had no intention to offend. It's just so rarely one finds any sign of intelligence amongst this crowd." The aristocratic man makes a sweeping gesture towards the balcony. "It seems we had the same idea, in looking for higher ground. Though I believe you're here not for the pleasure of God's onlooking, but rather seeking haven."

"I'm not running away from anything," Will says, contemplating running away.

"It wasn't my intention to intrude on your spot." Humor dances along the corner of wide lips. "Might I know your name? I've never seen you at these functions."

Will frowns in scrutiny. "Give me yours."

"Hannibal Lecter," the stranger replies in his smooth baritone.

"Well it was nice meeting you Mr. Lecter. But I have other matters to attend to," Will says dismissively as he makes his escape past the looming man.

Will feels eyes watching his every step down the stairs.

...

Beverly pulls Will behind an oak tree, eyes moving between his face and the noise of the crowd they left behind in the building. "Well?"

"They blended in smoothly, no one suspects a thing." Will fumbles with the fabric of his costume until he takes out a small device he brought from the recesses of a dark alleyway. It's circular and has four spider-like legs protruding from it's silver belly.

He carefully attaches the device on the back wall of the building. The small click alerts Will that it is locked firmly into place. Not wasting a breath, he and Bev hastily make their way into the thickets of the lavish garden before finally, Will pulls out a small remote and flicks a button.

For a moment, Will thinks his month's efforts of tinkering with the device are in vain. He's proven wrong, however, when a high whirring noise reaches their ears. A loud but small explosion lights the air with flickering embers and clouds of smoke. At once screams fill the night air.

Will doubts anyone got truly hurt, the explosion more of a diversion than the bombs these people's forces actually drop on his people, but he relishes in the thought an overdressed fool or two might receive a bruise or broken bone. Lost limb if they hold a strong dosage of unluckiness.

A crowd at once begins to evacuate the squared structure in a swarming stampede of blinding colors and trinketed hairdo's. Scared and terrified of what might happen next. The Blue Helmets will arrive anytime soon to investigate. Will hopes that his own decoys get the papers beforehand.

"Over there!" Beverly points out a group of Blue Helmets escaping the premises.

Will sighs in relief as Zeller and Price's faces come into view a distance away.

"What an interesting group you are."

Will and Beverly startle and turn around to find a figure sitting in the shadows of a gazebo beside them. Hannibal slowly slithers out with undisturbed ease as he adjusts the lapels of his robes.

Before Will can properly process anything, Beverly has already pulled out a dart gun and shot the red tailed needle into Hannibal's chest.

Zeller and Price along with the rest of the phony officials run up to them. "Well that's unfortunate," Price says gazing down at Hannibal. "That caped coat alone is worth more than anything we own in the village."

"Shut up Jimmy."

"I'm just saying, scuffing that fabric is a real shame-"

"We'll sell it." Excitement lights up Zeller's eyes. "Imagine how much-"

"Not the time for this, guys." Beverly nudges the unconscious man with her foot, checking that he's truly asleep. "What should we do, Will? Hannibal Lecter is a well known man in these circles. I've met him a few times before. People will notice his absence."

"Good." Will signals two of his companions to tie up Hannibal Lecter. "Let them notice. We're taking him with us."

...

Jack Crawford pushes his way through the crowd, his subordinates hot on his heels. A firm two-fingered gesture signals half of the Blue Helmets to head over to investigate the sides of the building while the other half marches inside.

There's a loud, high-pitched shrilling noise coming from his right, causing Jack's lips to set in a grimace. Freddy Lounds always proves herself a nuisance.

"Jack Crawford, what do you make of this terrorist attack? Have the Untouchables finally been driven over the edge? Just last month they'd accomplished their fourth raid!" She rushes to catch up to Jack's natural long strides. "How many do you estimate were killed?"

He scowls, about to give a biting retort before a heaven-sent(or hell-sent) Frederick Chilton obnoxiously makes his way inbetween Jack and Freddy. "I was in the ballroom when the preposterous explosion rattled City Hall," Chilton intones importantly while adjusting his collar. A smudge of grime dusts the side of his face. "I nearly died. It is by mere chance that I-"

Freddy Lounds eagerly pulls out a notepad, and Jack finally leaves the pair's incessant droning behind him. As he enters the scene, he can't help thinking he's glad Bella and he declined the invitation to the event.

Surveying the damage on the northern wall, littered appetizers, porcelain, and broken vases of flower arrangements, Jack easily concludes this was a distraction for a much grander scheme.

...

There's a transient whirlwind of emotions amongst the crew in the cargo truck. Some eyes droop with drowsiness while others remain alert and tense, shifting from person to person until they ultimately land on the unconscious form of Hannibal Lecter restrained in ropes in a corner. Will is among these wary individuals. A ransom is not what Will planned when they first drove out into the city, but if he's as important as Beverly made him out to be, Lecter could provide a pretty coin.

The roaring engine reaches a stop, before three consecutive loud whistles fill the air, the 'all clear' signal that they're back outside the border walls and in the wilderness of their home.

One by one they make it out of the truck, scuffed boots and accomplished spirits aiding their trek to the sparse arrangement of clay monuments they call home.

Excited eyes greet them, expressions all but turn jovial at the news they accomplished their mission. Will's eyes rake the crowd until finally spotting the familiar youthful face of a young blue-eyed girl, charging at him at full speed. "Will!"

Will stumbles backwards at her onslaught, arms wrapping easily around her small shoulders. They hold each other for a moment, taking comfort in each other's presence. "You keep getting bigger."

"I bet I'll surpass even you," Abigail sticks out her tongue.

"I hope so," Will smiles.

Abigail's eyes quickly draw to the figure of Hannibal being carried in by Price and Zeller. "Who's that?"

Her eyes widen as she takes in Hannibal's robes. "An Elite?! Will, they'll come looking for him!"

"That's what we're counting on," Will mutters as he makes his way into the middle of the dirt clearing. He calls everyone's attention with a sharp whistle. "The mission was a success. Unfortunately this high-end snob noticed Bev and I planting the bomb. We've brought him here with us in hopes that-"

At once mania erupts from the crowd. Ranging from approval to displeased murmurs.

"Are you trying to kill us all?" a voice growls out from the crowd.

Will mentally steels himself as Francis Dolarhyde comes into view. "His piece of shit friends are going to come searching for him. You're putting our rebellion in jeopardy, Graham, why didn't you just kill him?!"

Silence encompasses the crowd, they look to Will, a similar question at the tip of their lips.

"He could be of use to us. Weaponry and armor doesn't come cheap, Dolarhyde," Will retorts smoothly. "If nothing else, we'll eat his flesh, his organs can be useful should any of us need a replacement."

Francis smirks, acquiesced. The murmuring dies down, relenting to the news but still a bit disconcerted. "Where's Alana?" Will searches the crowd.

...

A small paisley shed comes into view as Will and a few others trudge through the thickets of bushes and branches. Though the building is quaint it has a neatness to it many of them don't bother with, keeping things aesthetically pleasing seen as something unnecessary.

Will gives the small home a knock. A surprised but pleased Alana answers the door. Her gaze quickly darkens, however, upon catching sight of the man they've brought over.

"Hannibal Lecter," she says with a horrified gasp.

"You know him?" Will frowns.

"He was my mentor...back when," she trails off, gaze distant.

Will nods in understanding. Alana has been with them for only six years. While she hadn't quite been part of the Elite Class she'd been on the track. Now she lives with them, amongst the Resistance otherwise known as the class Untouchables.

"Can you house him?" Will neglects to mention what he's told Dolarhyde, knowing that though Alana is nothing like her ignorant old self she still isn't quite able to stomach some of their more desperation-induced actions.

"No." Will glances at her face for a moment in surprise before nodding away. "He's," Alana struggles.

"It's fine, I understand," Will appeases. "I brought him here, he's my burden to carry."

...

Will curses himself for being easily swayed by Alana's glimmering baby blues. Though he no longer holds a torch for her like he did those years when she first arrived, he still has a soft spot for her. At the very least he should have made another, capable subordinate house the Elite, someone like Dolarhyde or Tier who would keep Lecter in check properly.

He's far too tired and far too busy to be playing babysitter. Will looks around at the sight of his small home, clay walls staring back at him with their blank cracked faces. _I have no room to house him either_.

Peter winds up helping Will forge a makeshift jail from an old shack(mostly used for storage) Will made a while ago, using spare rusty metal and wood to close the enclosure. They throw in some hay and a bucket while shackling Hannibal to the wall.

That night Will goes to sleep dreaming of dark soul-less eyes looking into his own.

...

His abduction is not much of a surprise to Hannibal. For all intents and purposes, he didn't exactly plan to wind up chained to a...horse stable? He'd merely been curious as to what the elusive man, _Will_ he hears the others call him, had been up to.

Though his consciousness has lingered coyly at the fine line between sleep and wake for a while now, he feigns sleep to catch any wasps of information should he ever deign it necessary to escape.

There's not much to be said for the handling of his person. The pair of cackling subordinates, _Price and Zeller_ , seem rather besotted with one another and don't notice Hannibal's observing eyes. He glances at them curiously, until finally a flash of imagery retrieves from his memory palace and he recalls seeing them under Beverly Katz' wing in her laboratory. Hannibal offhandedly wonders how many of the people he knew are part of this Resistance, now having also heard the 'missing' Alana's sweet concerned voice.

Needless to say the situation is proving more interesting than anything Hannibal's witnessed within the protection of the border walls encasing the Elite from the Middle and then the Untouchables.

The boorish Elite life was starting to grate on his nerves. Hannibal revels in his wealth and comforts but he's keen to see what might happen under captivity.

...

"You never told me your name," Hannibal drawls in what is part amusement and part still under the lingering affect of the drug the dart gun administered. _They seem inexperienced in controlling their poison's dosages,_ Hannibal files the information away.

The blue eyed man stares long and hard at Hannibal, dutifully gazing at his brow bone, before he shortly responds, "Will."

"My theories were correct." Hannibal gives Will a small grin, the chains rattling as he gestures vaguely. "You are a hunter. Is that why you were so averted to my observations?"

"Do you normally grab the hands of stranger's you've just met at a party?"

"You're no stranger."

Will frowns, "We've never met."

"I would know you in any other reimagining of our first meeting, Will. Whether that be at a party, had we met here, in a raid, in my office, though I believe I would have known you best in the shadows of an alcove, not dissimilar to how we did, only with a knife against my throat. You and I are cut from the same atomic cosmos."

Fury lights the pools of blue. "We are nothing alike," Will growls, and for the first time Will's eyes meet Hannibal's, for one sweet moment, before said man trudges out of the shack and calls another man to keep watch of Hannibal.

...

The days fly by, Hannibal begins to hunger and sweat fervently. His grasp on his self control slightly questioned for the first time in his life in the heat waves of the barren forests. He knows they're barren, marred and poisoned by the forces of Hannibal's own class so as to keep the Untouchables reliable on them.

His robes and waist coat were long ago removed, probably sold, all that is left now of his previous lavish life is his ego, his pants and white button up. Still, he prevails, asking and prodding each one of the pseudo orderlies who keep watch. By far Beverly is the kindest, but she appears slightly disgruntled to see Hannibal in such a state. Hannibal imagines Alana might react much the same should she ever gain the courage to see him.

Peter stays quiet for the most part, muttering mostly to himself, but every now and then he'll let Hannibal know the time or ask him if he needs water, though admittedly not often. Dolarhyde keeps his eyes concentrated on Hannibal's, never once moving an inch. In his drowsy state Hannibal wonders if the man is more a statue than man. He talks sometimes, mostly to taunt and point out Hannibal's grievances.

Will by far is the most silent. Gruff and dismissive. Never stares. The other watchers always at the very least curiously glance at him but Will doesn't relent his cold shoulder.

This incites Hannibal's sensibilities to act out. For the first time in a long time, it's not an 'act out' in a violent extrication.

Well, to a certain extent.

...

"You're not going," Will retorts.

"I'm of age!" Abigail protests fumbling with the cloth of her tunic.

"You haven't trained enough-"

"Will," a gruff voice calls out from outside the workshop. "They've bombed downtown. Several of our people are injured, we don't have enough hands to help them all."

Will curses, knowing most of their weaponry relies on the few techs in downtown.

"I can go," Abigail announces. "I'll just help carry them to Bev. I won't fight." She quickly stammers at Will's expression.

"Fine, but don't go wandering into the midcity, stick to helping those in the outskirts only."

She's off before he can get the last word in. Will rubs the bridge of his nose, headache blooming already. He quickly stands and puts on his father's fighting robes, the firm material aged but still relentless in its protection. Will's father got it back when he could afford such things.

...

Will studies the damage surrounding him. Used to it, but still aggrieved to the onslaught of destroyed buildings and wailing bodies. Will sends out his people to recruit whatever others they can save. As the clouds of smoke and fires light up the air he distantly remembers the tale of the phoenix his father once told him about.

...

There's a fleeting moment where all he can hear is a loud whistling, his head throbs and blood pours down a gash in his forhead, he can tell people are yelling but all the colors around him begin to mesh in a soup of ugly sights. Blurring as he hyper-focuses on the sight of Abigail's pale body brought to him on a stretcher. The ringing in his ears comes to a halt as Peter informs him that their few vaguely practiced healers are all busy attending to other people. Peter's eyes shift away sadly, knowing how much Abigail means to Will.

Blood blossoms like a flower across her abdomen, having been stabbed. Will desperately applies pressure to it but he knows it won't do any good. Their medical knowledge is limited, Beverly, Price and Zeller are some of the few who know anything about it and even that is feeble seeing as they worked undercover as morticians for the Elite to get supplies.

Abigail will die in Will's arms and it will be his fault for not ensuring she would listen to his command of not going into the city where she was ambushed by a Green Helmet.

"I can help," a smooth voice mutters politely.

Will swerves around, mouth gaping at the sight of Hannibal free from his restraints. "I heard some commotion." he blithely responds at Will's unspoken question.

"I can't trust you."

"I was once a surgeon, good Will. If we don't hurry your friend will die of blood loss. This is an easy fix, I've done it several times."

Will contemplates his options, but seeing as they're narrowed down slim to none he barks out orders to bring Hannibal any tools they have on hand.

Hours pass by and Will spends every second of it raptly watching Hannibal work. There's a certain grace about his surgical movements he's never seen portrayed by well...anyone, especially not by a person attending someone's wounds. These are the rhythms of someone in his prime environment. Every desicion is made quickly and without second thought, eyes checking Abigail's breathing chest, before going back to the plasmic gore.

Will finds himself enraptured by the time Hannibal has stitched Abigail's skin back up. Hannibal glances back at Will from his spot on the chair he pulled up, eyes carefully blank. "She suffered no grave damage to her organs. Unfortunately she may get an infection throughout the night. This gauze isn't all that strong but it shall do. Do you happen to have any herbal medicines on hand? I might be able to procure a paste-"

"We don't have many. Our crops are always burned down," Will mutters bitterly before rising and studying Abigail's sleeping form. "...Thank you, for saving her. She's all I have left."

"I think you still have quite a bit left in you as well. Your wits for one." Hannibal says as he gently wipes a wet rag across Will's forehead. Will flinches away. "Please, allow me. I've nothing much to do either way. You've let this gash run this entire time. It's a wonder how you're still standing."

Hannibal's words come to fruition as Will staggers back into the old chair. In light of Abigail's state he's forgot all about his wound. Drowsiness begins to take his eyes, before snapping open once more at the feel of Hannibal gently cleaning his forehead. "It will scar but you'll definitely live," Hannibal jibes lightly.

"What's one more," Will grunts out.

"A shame it's on your face," Hannibal wraps the bandage securely around Will's head. "And yet, despite the foliage around us, and your ragged appearance, you resemble a young deity rising from the ashes of chaos."

"Are you flirting with me, Dr. Lecter?" Will slowly blinks, recalling the unabashed stares the Elite casts his way every time he stands guard. He's unused to the attention but a small part of him wants to seek it out more.

"Do you want me to flirt with you?"

"No," Will lies.

A small smirk plays at the medic's lips. That's when Will knows he's utterly screwed to hell and back.

...

They play a game of sorts. Hannibal attempts prodding Will for conversation and Will pretends he doesn't listen to the Elite's long winded dialogues about stories, medical advice, philosophical views and what-not. Every now and then Will frowns at Hannibal's words because, _What the hell? Who even says that?_

"Your interest is palpable. There's no shame in giving in to your intrusive thoughts on occasion."

Will gravely disagrees and Hannibal seems to notice. "You're worried I'll find you strange."

"You and I are from completely different worlds, Dr. Lecter," Will sends his eyes heaven-ward. Wondering what his father might say about someone like Hannibal. 'He's a reliable fellow. Prissy though. He could help the people. Always put them before yourself, Will.'

"Be that as it may, I think you should also partake in the privilege of indulgence. You may find we have more in common than your initial notions."

"What is there to indulge in around me?" Will laughs faintly.

"Your base desires, of course." Hannibal says like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Will doesn't like where this conversation is headed. "You want to fuck me?"

"You do," Hannibal states before grinning. "Though I'm not opposed to it. Interesting that's where your mind flew, I was thinking more along the lines of your violent desires. Some friendly sparring."

Will ducks his head in embarrassment, cheeks flaming. "You know how to fight?"

"It's a good stress releasor," Hannibal says as he stands towards the edge of the bars, holding out his wrists for Will to unshackle.

...

 _Good stress releasor indeed_ , Will wryly thinks as Hannibal bites into the base of his throat. Their hips grind against one another, merging and moving in erratic fashion. One particular grind of their loins together makes them groan in unison. Their weeks long pent up tension finally drains out of them. The feel of their bare skin and cocks feels delicious and dangerous all in the same. Eventually their gasps become as stuttered as their movements and toe curling pleasure encompasses them both.

Hannibal sits at the edge of the bed, buttoning his shirt up. Despite the fact Will can't see his face he feels Hannibal's smugness permeate the humid room.

"Dolarhyde attempted to alert the Elites of our location in exchange for money," Will rises to wipe himself with a towel.

"Oh?" Hannibal says, eyes round and ever the picture of an ignorant Elite. "What a shame. He made a strong soldier."

"'Made'," Will laughs. "So you did kill him."

"If I did , it completely slipped my mind. I was shackled, as you may recall."

"We both know those chains are a formality. You can escape at any time. But you choose not to. Unless it suits your agenda."

"How did Dolarhyde die?"

"He," Will rolls his eyes at what they both know is Hannibal's mask of innocence. "-was stabbed. Hung on a tree. His back cut open to resemble reptilian wings-"

"Dragon wings."

"And disembowled. Mysteriously with a clean surgical cut."

"How mysterious indeed."

"What did you do with his liver?" Will glances at Hannibal, finding the man already watching him with avid attention.

"I made good use of your cutting board and sliced it up before feeding it to you. By the way I wonder if you know it's a cheese board."

"That's...I was wondering where the rest of the animal was."

"Hung up on a tree, as you said." Hannibal stands up and makes move towards Will. He doesn't flinch away at his touch.

They kiss softly under the light of the moon.

"You don't feel any attachment to the rest of your class?"

"None, whatsoever."

"They'll never see us coming," Will smiles softly at Hannibal. He returns it.

"We'll take them by surprise."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
